


At Love's Deathbed

by JPA



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, High School, Love, M/M, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unrequited Love, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPA/pseuds/JPA
Summary: “It smells good in here,” his dad remarks when he gets home, “like the flowers your mother used plant in her garden.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So here we go! More angst! 
> 
> I don't know how long this will be! 
> 
> Unbeta'd

_Present_

Stiles peers into the trashcan that he’s leaning over. He takes in the scene in front of him as his ears ring, his mind clouded with fear and disgust.

Flower petals that are wet with saliva and blood sit next to crumpled up papers, toilet paper, and candy wrappers. They are unmoving, gleaming up at Stiles as if they weren’t going to cause his impending death.

He can only stare at them, angry at the world. He feels alone and lost.

Was this what love amounted to? A trashcan full of Stiles’ everyday garbage and bloody flowers? Hours spent wheezing over a toilet, choking on the scent of whatever flower that decided to crawl up his throat? If it was, was love really worth it?

No, Stiles decides. Love, however it was defined, was not worth this. It was not worth his life.

* * *

 

_Five Days Ago_

“Did you hear?” Scott asks, sounding scandalized.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Hear what? The agonized screams of the damned? Our parents having sex in the living room last night?”

Scott pulls a disgusted face, scrunching his nose, “Dude, that’s gross.”

“You’re telling me!” Stiles huffs. “I was the one that had to listen to it. You’re lucky that you got to stay the night at Allison’s.”

“Sorry, man,” Scott chuckles, “If I would’ve known you’d be subjected to that torture, I would’ve invited you to hang out with us.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Stiles says. “Your gross puppy love is way worse.”

Scott laughs, “Whatever, dude. Anyway, I was talking about the girl that died yesterday.”

Stiles looks up sharply, frowning at Scott. The other boy looks uncomfortable, frowning back at Stiles with a sad expression. Stiles doesn’t say anything, waiting for Scott to continue.

“It was love,” Scott says simply, knowing Stiles would understand what he meant.

Most teenagers referred to hanahaki disease as ‘love.’ It became a widespread term when a movie called _At Love’s Deathbed_ came out. It was a very popular movie, one that Stiles had refused to watch because of the controversy that surrounded it.  

The movie followed the story of a boy suffering from hanahaki disease, obviously. It was well known that most people who suffered from the disease, being stubborn, chose to confess their feelings to the person they were in love with or die. The boy in the movie, however, decided to go through with the surgery that would remove the flowers and allow him to live.

The surgery was somewhat of a controversial topic. Some thought it should be forced upon the people who had the disease, while others believed it was the person’s choice. The people who were involved in making the movie claim to be pro-choice, saying that the movie was supposed to show that the decision to get the surgery or die was one of great anguish.

If Stiles remembers correctly from the articles he’s read about the movie, after the main character has the surgery, he finds out that the person he loved had loved him back. Due to the surgery, he isn’t able to return the person’s feelings, and that person ends up dying of the disease.

“Dude!” Scott slaps Stiles’ arm, snapping Stiles back to reality. “Are you okay? What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” Stiles replies, shaking his head. “I was just lost in thought.”

The bell rings only seconds after Stiles replies, causing both boys to jump and look at each other in horror. Being late to Mr. Harris’ class was not something on their to-do list. Unfortunately for them, that’s exactly what was going to happen.

When Stiles and Scott walk into Mr. Harris’ class, Stiles is pleasantly surprised to see Mr. Harris isn’t sitting at his desk as he usually would be. In his stead, a man with brown hair and an attractive five o’clock shadow stands at the front of the class. The man is obviously a substitute teacher, one that Stiles has never seen before.

“Ah,” the man hums when Stiles and Scott get through the door. “I’m so glad that you two had the decency to show up to class.”

Scott flushes, embarrassed, “Sorry, Mr. Hale. We lost track of time.”

The man, Mr. Hale, snorts, “Of course you did, Scott. Take your seats.”

Stiles throws Scott a curious look, wondering how the other boy knew this man. He wasn’t someone Stiles had ever seen at the school before. It was odd that Scott knew him.

When they both get to their seats, Stiles lean close to Scott. “How do you know this guy?” he asks, whispering. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“He used to date my mom,” Scott says, shrugging and acting like it’s not a big deal. He looks at Stiles’ weirded out face and laughs quietly, grinning. “It was when we were in elementary school, dude. They didn’t last long, it was a mutual breakup.”

“Please, don’t tell me about your mom’s past sex life. I already have to deal with her current one,” Stiles hisses, turning away from his best friend. Scott only snickers.

The class goes on without a hitch, but Stiles can’t stop looking at the substitute teacher. The man was attractive, okay? Stiles couldn’t help it. It was one of his hobbies to admire beautiful things— beautiful people, and it was very apparent to Stiles that Mr. Hale was beautiful.

Mr. Hale had blue eyes and long lashes, making the man look younger than he probably was. He had an air of confidence about him, everything about him contributing to his striking aura. He was an average height, but Stiles imagined that the man could tower over anyone if he wanted to. The five o’clock shadow Stiles had noticed earlier surrounded soft looking lips. Stiles wouldn’t mind kissing those lips.

It’s a shame when the class ends. Stiles could look at Mr. Hale for hours.

* * *

 

_One Day Ago_

“Mr. Harris will be taking a temporary leave,” Mr. Hale tells the class the next time he substitutes for Mr. Harris. “Unfortunately, he has fallen ill and will not be able to teach the class in his current state.”

“What happened?” a student asks.

Before Mr. Hale can answer, another student calls out, “Is it love?”

The classroom erupts in a series of conversations that ranged from panicked to excited gossip. Everyone gasps and crows, always willing to talk about someone else’s pain as if it didn’t actually exist.

“Enough!” Mr. Hale raises his voice, slamming his notebook on the desk. The classroom goes deathly silent. “It is none of your concern what Mr. Harris is _suffering_ from. He will recover, but, in the meantime, I will be your teacher. Understood?”

Almost perfectly synchronized, all of the students murmur out a soft _yes_ in response. For the rest of the class, no one dares to speak of love or the disease it will inevitably bring.

Stiles can’t help but admire the way Mr. Hale had diverted the students’ focus. He had, in Stiles’ mind, defended Mr. Harris. No one deserved to have their pain spread around and talked about as if it didn’t really matter.

* * *

 

_Now_

Stiles takes the trash out and cleans both of the bathrooms before his dad gets home. His dad doesn’t suspect a thing, not that Stiles thought he would.

“It smells good in here,” his dad remarks when he gets home, “like the flowers your mother used to plant in her garden.”

Stiles only shakes his head and shrugs, speechless. He walks up to his room and closes the door, chest burning. When he sits down on his bed, he starts to laugh. He laughs and laughs and laughs. He laughs so hard that he cries. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! This chapter is 2,000 words! I usually only write about 1,000-1,200 per chapter, so this is good! 
> 
> There is... graphic descriptions of vomiting in this? Maybe? Kind of? I'm really, really bad at tagging things, so I'd appreciate if any of you gave me suggestions! I don't want to trigger anyone! 
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy! It's mainly angst. Most of this fic is mainly angst, actually. This is unbeta'd! Sorry for any mistakes!

The amount of time Stiles spends staring into his kitchen sink is alarming. He’d been eating when the urge to vomit struck him, and it was a blessing that he made it over to the sink before he coughed up bits and pieces of what looked like worms.

They weren’t worms, of course. They were stems. At this point, Stiles didn’t know what would be better.

It had been two weeks since he first discovered his ailment, and he was already losing his sanity. His throat burned constantly, the skin on his neck peeling because of how often he threw up. When flowers weren’t spewing past his lips, actual vomit was. Even if he hadn’t eaten, Stiles would spend hours hunched over in his bathroom, wondering what he’d done to deserve this torture.

Stiles spent an equal amount of time staring at himself in the mirror. His raw neck and his skeletal frame stuck out like a sore thumb. He didn’t look like himself anymore. He didn’t feel like himself anymore.

It was odd, Stiles though. Stiles barely knew Mr. Hale, but his body was reacting in such an extreme way. Did that make any sense? Not to Stiles.

Everyone’s experiences are different when it comes to the hanahaki disease. Love, whether it be the feeling or the disease, was felt or experienced at varying strengths and had many different outcomes.

When Stiles was still in middle school, he’d heard that the more incompatible a person was to their crush, the more they’ll suffer. It was a myth, he’d learned later on. There was no way to know why the disease develops faster or deadlier in a person.

Back then, Stiles had been sure that the level of suffering correlated with the extent of a person’s feelings. Now, Stiles isn’t so sure.

He wouldn’t say that he was obsessed with Mr. Hale. If anything, the crush he had on the substitute teacher was a small one. A flicker of something dangerous had sparked in Stiles whenever Mr. Hale entered the room, but he wouldn’t label himself overly passionate about the man.

It doesn’t matter, Stiles supposes. He’s suffering because of a stupid, childish infatuation of someone who hardly knows of his existence, and he can’t stop the consequences.

* * *

 

When Stiles walks into class, he’s got bags the size of plates under his eyes and a dark cloud looming over his head. He is quick to sit down at his desk, barely acknowledging the empty spot next to him.

Scott was out sick. Well, not really. He was out, yeah, but he definitely wasn’t sick. Earlier in the morning, he’d texted Stiles that he was ditching school to spend time with Allison. It was typical Scott behavior, and Stiles had only texted back a short ‘ _have fun, be safe’_ before shutting his phone off and heading to class.

“—inski?” a voice calls from the front of the room. Stiles looks up from the paper he’d just been doodling on, catching the eye of Mr. Hale. The moment their eyes meet, Stiles head throbs.

“Yes, Mr. Hale?” Stiles asks.

“McCall couldn’t grace us with his presence?” the older man asks, eyebrow raised. That look always managed to send shivers down Stiles’ spine.

“He’s sick,” Stiles answers, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Sick,” Mr. Hale huffs, rolling his eyes, “of course.”

Stiles only shrugs, not knowing what Mr. Hale wants from him. What could Stiles say? He’s not going to tell him that Scott is skipping in hopes of getting laid. That would be so uncool.

Thankfully, Mr. Hale has the decency to not say anything else about it and moves on. Either he sees how exhausted Stiles is, or he realizes that Stiles doesn’t have control over Scott’s actions. Whatever it is, Stiles is grateful. He doesn’t want to interact with Mr. Hale.

It’s weird, Stiles thinks, that he doesn’t want to interact with the person he has a crush on. It doesn’t make any sense at all, but when has Stiles’ life ever made any sense?

The entire class period is used as a catch-up day for people who are falling behind. Even with what was going on, Stiles is ahead of the game, so he simply sits at his desk in a daze.

Near the end of the class, a group of students beckon Mr. Hale over to their cluster of desks. The students are near the front of the room, so Mr. Hale doesn’t have to go far. He walks over and engages the students in a dull conversation. Stiles can’t hear everything they’re saying, but it seems to be mostly uninteresting.

“My ex-wife used to hate grocery shopping,” Stiles hears Mr. Hale say.

Mr. Hale is talking with the group, both hands on his hips. He’s grinning, amused at whatever the student directly in front of him says in response. Stiles can’t be for sure, but it seems to him like Mr. Hale is oddly comfortable with this gathering of students.

It takes him a second to realize that most of the students in the group are the friends of Cora Hale, Mr. Hale’s niece.

“Your ex-wife used to hate everything, anyway,” one girl says, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. She blows a bubble at Mr. Hale, and he rolls his eyes, popping it.

“That’s very true,” Mr. Hale replies. “Now, go spit that gum out. Just because you’re my favorite doesn’t mean I won’t give you detention.”

The girl sticks her tongue out at Mr. Hale, not even pretending to go spit out her gum. Mr. Hale doesn’t seem to actually care.

The bell drowns out whatever is said next. It doesn’t matter, of course, Stiles was just being a little nosy. He stuffs all of his notebooks and pencils in his backpack, shoving everything in as fast as possible so that he can hurry to his next class. He ignores the growing ache in his lungs, praying that he’d be able to make it through the rest of the school day without coughing up any damned petals.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Mr. Hale says, just before Stiles makes it out the door, “I would like to talk to you.”

Turning on his heel, Stiles plasters a fake smile on his face. It’s the fake smile that Stiles uses to fool everyone. It works, most of the time. By the look on Mr. Hale’s face, Stiles needs to up his game a little.

“How can I help you?” Stiles asks, gripping onto the straps of his backpack. His heart is racing, and his chest feels too tight. He doesn’t know how he’s managing to get air into his lungs, head spinning as he stares at Mr. Hale’s eyelashes.

Mr. Hale gives him a worried look, “Is everything okay, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Of course,” Stiles answers politely, dipping his head into a slow nod. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, so I’m just exhausted.”

“Ah,” Mr. Hale nods back, “I see. Could you please give Mr. McCall a copy of the paper I handed out today? Ms. Reyes told me you two were very close, and I thought you might be able to get it to him.”

“No problem,” Stiles gulps. When Mr. Hale holds out the paper to him, Stiles lifts a shaky hand to take it from him. He practically snatches it out of the older man’s hand, spinning around and taking long strides to the open door. “Thanks, Mr. Hale. See you on Monday!”

“Wait!”

Stiles ignores Mr. Hale’s confused voice, speeding out the door and into the hall. He pays no attention to the people around him as he makes his way to the gym bathrooms. The gym bathrooms were almost always empty, especially at this time of day, when there were no gym classes.

Not sure if it’s regular ol’ vomit creeping up his throat or flowers of doom, Stiles bursts through the door and enters a stall. Luckily for Stiles, the bathroom is empty, and he can spew stuff out of his mouth in peace. He leans over the dirty toilet in front of him and hurls almost immediately after getting on his knees.

After a short pause, he gets a tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, tears prickling at his eyes. He’d rather not be doing this. He’d never thought he’d wish to be in class, taking notes while a teacher drones on about the square root of whatever number.

He wishes he’d been more appreciative of something so simply.

The tickling sensation recedes soon after it appears but that doesn’t fool Stiles. Within moments, he’ll be heaving.

True to his own expectations, Stiles starts to heave and cough seconds later. The petals that had sat in his lungs move up to his throat, making him gag violently. Stomach acid forces its way up, covering the bits and pieces of plant life that’s already halfway past Stiles’ lips. 

Wave after wave of vomit covered flowers bloom from Stiles’ mouth, leaving the teenage boy weak against the grimy school toilet.

When the worst of it’s over, Stiles rests his head against the toilet lid, bottom lip curled in disgust. He snuffles and slides his hands against the cool floor.

Suddenly, Stiles hears the door to the bathroom open. He tenses, hurriedly climbing up onto the toilet and putting his feet up. He doesn’t dare make a sound, looking down at the state he’s in.

There were a few petals on the floor surrounding the toilet, and there were even more sticking to the front of Stiles shirt. Stiles couldn’t be sure, but there was also something resembling this mornings breakfast slowly dripping down the collar of his shirt.

 _Please_ , Stiles thinks, _don’t see me. I don’t want anyone to see me like this._

“Are you sure no one is in here?” a familiar voice muses, sounding slightly annoyed.

Another person—a girl— snorts, “We’d be able to hear them, Boyd.”

“Right.”

Stiles realizes that the voice of the girl belongs to the same girl who’d been talking to Mr. Hale earlier. He barely suppresses a groan at the thought of his temporary teacher.

Great. He’s stuck in a bathroom with two teenagers who were probably going to get handsy. This was perfect.

“Boyd—”

Stiles hears shuffling, and then something slam against something else. Did ‘Boyd’ just slam the girl against the wall? Was this really happening?

“Love you, baby,” the guy, Boyd, mumbles.

“Love—”

Just as suddenly as the two other high schoolers had came into the bathroom, Stiles is hit with an all too familiar itch at the back of his throat.

_No. No, no, no._

Before he even knows what he’s doing, Stiles scrambles off the toilet and gets back to retching into it. He distantly comprehends the words _shit_ and _what the hell_ being said, but he can’t be bothered with worrying about it.

He hears door to the bathroom stall he’s in flings open just as soon as he’s finished retching. He somehow finds the strength to turn his head to confront the unwelcome onlookers, frowning.

“Having fun up there?” Stiles croaks as he glares. Boyd and the blonde girl stare at him, looking as if their brains are malfunctioning. Stiles decides to take pity on them, breaking the awkward silence with some snark, “You know, it’s not exactly polite to just burst into a stall when it’s in use.”

“It’s not exactly polite to listen in on two people getting it on, either,” the blonde girl snips, crossing her arms. There’s no bite to her words, though. Her eyes are glued to the toilet, and so is Boyd’s.

Stiles chuffs, slowly standing up, “I was here first?”

“Well—”

“Sorry to intrude,” Boyd cuts the girl off when she starts to respond. “Erica and I were just leaving, actually.”

The girl, Erica, punches Boyd on the shoulder, “But—”

“Let’s go,” Boyd cuts her off, _again._ Erica pouts, but when Boyd grabs her hand and starts dragging her out the door, she doesn’t protest. The bathroom door shuts with a quiet _click_ , and Stiles is left alone. Again.

If Stiles had been in his right mind, he would have asked the two not to say anything about what they saw. Of course, Stiles hadn’t been—and still isn’t—in his right mind, so he hadn’t said anything and isn’t going to go after them. Once he knows he’s alone for good, he simply cleans himself up and goes home early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me feedback! What did you like about this chapter? What do you think I need to work on? 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :) Give me a comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Hate it? Tell me! 
> 
> Check out my twitter to see the photos I took for this fic! https://twitter.com/jpap_central
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
